fortuna
by velvet magnolias
Summary: This is the you that knows how lucky you are to have found someone as beautiful as Bill Weasley, and you're not planning to let him go, not now, not ever, and especially not over something as unimportant as a scar. / One-shot. Rated T for language.


_A/N: So heres another second POV because I really could't shake the itch to write another story in this format, Written for the One-Word Title One-Shot Challenge. My word was_ _ **Fortuna**_. _Hope you guys enjoy!_

 _ **fortuna**_

You watch him carefully as he moves around the bedroom, throwing on clothes as he goes, arms crossed tightly across your chest, the pale glow of the moonlight streaming in through the open window casting him in a ghastly glow.

He stops mid-stroll as he finishes putting on that ridiculous leather jacket of his, pats down his pockets, before turning to look at you, smiling sheepishly when he notices the long, thin object dangling delicately between two perfectly manicured fingers.

"Oh, hey," he says as he reaches across the bed for it, but you simply raise an eyebrow, move it away from him. "Fleur," he starts, sighs, looks at you almost imploringly, but you hold your gaze, raise your chin defiantly and perfectly poised, in the only way you know how.

"I zo not agree wizz you going on thees mission," you say and Bill lets out another sigh, ready to interrupt you again, but you shoot him a look, continue before he can say anything again. "I zo not agree, zat is true, but I also know zat there is nothing I can say to stop you from going. Bloody Gryffindor," you whisper the last part, more to yourself than anything, but Bill hears you all the same, grins as he grabs a hold of the hand not holding his wand hostage and brings it to his lips.

"Sweetheart," he says, voice soft as he brings up his free hand to your face, caresses your lips with his thumb, and you lean into him, greedily take the comfort he's offering you. "You know this is important, the Order _needs_ me. Dumbledore warned us; something is going to happen tonight and Moody wanted us to be prepared."

You want to scream, cry because you don't care. You do not care about Moody or the bloody Order or Dumbledore, the old sod. All you care about is Bill, your want, _need_ for him to be safe. You want to tell him something, anything, beg him not to go because you've got a feeling deep inside you that you cannot explain, a feeling that something somehow will go horribly wrong.

But you don't.

Instead, you say, "Just, promise me Beel zat you vill stay safe. Zat nothing vill 'appen to you. Promise me zat."

You look at him helplessly, searching his eyes, and you know that he won't. He won't, _can't_ promise you that because Bill Weasley is not the type of man to make promises he can't keep, not the type of man to promise in vain and you don't know if you've ever loved or hated him more.

Instead he takes both your hands in his. Instead he says, "Hey, don't worry about me, yeah? I've got luck on my side, remember."

He winks and you let out a small snort, despite yourself, your eyes automatically falling to the tattoo on his right collarbone that you've spent countless hours tracing, memorized every dip and fall of the carefully inked elegant writing.

 _Audentis fortuna iuvat,_ it reads. Fortune favors the brave _._

 _Typical Gryffindor,_ you think vaguely, but you know you wouldn't have it, have him any other way.

"You are an idiot, Beel Weasley," you say with a wan smile, no real heat behind your words and he grins at you, gives your hands a gentle squeeze, carefully slipping his wand from your grasp and this time you don't try to fight it. "And I love you," you say after a beat, because you are in the middle of war and you can never say it enough.

He doesn't say anything, and he doesn't need to because it's clear in the way he holds your face tenderly in his hands, your pale hands covering his tan ones.

He places a kiss to your forehead before moving to your lips. "For good luck." Then after a beat.  
"And another one. Just in case," he whispers, pressing his lips to yours in a last, lingering kiss before he Dissapparates with a small 'pop', leaving you grasping at thin air.

He leaves you there, staring at the spot he just disappeared from for a long time.

You pray to any and every deity you can think of that you're wrong.

* * *

You move finally, after what seems like hours and that is only to grab a shawl that smells like him and a book your Maman had sent you from your bedside table.

You settle in your sitting room this time, shawl wrapped tightly around you as you open the book you know you won't read randomly, set it on your lap. You stare blankly at the door, as if waiting for him to walk in any minute, announce that the mission is off, that Dumbledore was wrong, that Moody didn't actually need him.

He doesn't. You didn't actually expect him to.

It's when you allow sleep to finally claim you, when you can feel yourself drifting away slowly that something finally happens.

You sit up straight, blinking away the sleep from your tired eyes as if that will make the vision staring straight at you disappear.

But it doesn't. The silver wolf stares at you, misty eyes seeming to bore into yours and you feel your heart stop.

Just like that the sleep is gone, quickly replaced with dread.

The wolf finally speaks in Tonks' voice, loud and clear and it makes your blood run cold.

"Something's happened," it says. "Bill needs you."

It disappears and it only takes you a second before you react, spring into action. You don't allow yourself to think about anything else, don't even bother with changing clothes.

You grab your wand from the coffee table and Disapparate with a loud crack.

* * *

There's a long gash that covers his face, an angry red scar that mars his handsome, tired face and every time you look at it, it fills you with indignation and rage as you remember the words his mother spoke to you, the way she expected you to simply stop loving Bill because of a stupid scar.

In another world, another time, a different you would have allowed your vanity to get the better of you, would have childishly cared about such trivial things. But you don't care, can't find it in yourself to give a damn because this isn't that you, you're this you, the you who loves Bill more than you love life itself.

The you that doesn't care if he has a scar or a thousand scars. Because you know now that beauty comes from within, that real beauty resides in your soul and that is something nobody can take away from you. Ever.

This is the you that knows how lucky you are to have found someone as beautiful as Bill Weasley, and you're not planning to let him go, not now, not ever, and especially not over something as unimportant as a scar.

* * *

Bill wakes on the third day, after having spent the last couple of days drifting in and out of a fretful sleep, slipping in and out of consciousness and you're awake for it, awake for the way his eyes flutter, trying to blink away the last visages of sleep as he finally gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

You're alone for it, his parents having left only moments before to freshen up and grab something to eat after you assured them that you'd be alright, that you'd take care of Bill and you can't help but feel glad because of it, glad that you get a few moments with him, alone.

"Hey," he says after a while, voice groggy and slow from all those potions the Healers have kept him sedated with, and you can hear the pain in his voice even though he tried to cover it up, keep it hidden from you and it makes your heart ache.

You manage a small hey in return and you don't notice you're crying until Bill reaches a hand to your face, wipes away your tears with his gentle fingers.

"Hey, now, am I really that terrifying to look at now?" he asks in what you know is supposed to be a joking manner, but you can detect the underlying tense tone, the uncertainty in his voice.

" _Non,_ " you say and the conviction in your voice surprises even you. "Non. You are beautiful Beel Weasley. You were beautiful zen and you are beautiful now. Zon't you dare. Zon't you dare say anything. I won't allow it."

You give him a defiant look, even through your tears, as if daring him to contradict you.

But he doesn't. He doesn't say anything as he offers you a rueful smile, looks at you as if he can't quite believe his luck, doesn't understand what he did to deserve you.

"I'm probably the luckiest bloody bastard on the face of the planet, you know that?" he says after a moment, as he reaches out to you and you come to him easily, curl yourself around him carefully; it feels like finally coming home after a long day.

"Because you managed to survive Fenrir Greyback wizz nothing more zan a silly scar?" you whisper into his neck, letting out a small yawn because you're tired.

It's been three long days full of worrying and crying and it's left you exhausted and now that you have Bill, healthy and alive and finally fully awake, all you can think of is sleep.

"Well, yeah, that too, I guess," he says after a small pause. "But mostly because I have you by my side."

You consider this, before giving him a tired smile.

"Oui," you agree, murmur into his skin, allowing your eyes to slowly close as he strokes your hair. "Zat is true. Lucky bastard."

He laughs at that, a soft laugh that emanates from somewhere deep inside him and you feel it to your very core.

You know you'll be alright.


End file.
